Meet the Clarksons
by Vintagepop
Summary: A series of stories in which an uncharicteristically nervous Thomas meets various members of Dr Clarksons family. Warning: extreme awkwardness
1. Meeting Jeremiah

**A/N: I would like to dedicate this to Katsuba, for giving me the idea. I mention this event in two of my stories and am going into more detail with it here. Reading the other stories isn't necessary, all you need to know is that it's post war and Thomas is mute. **

I was out on the lawn outside our small cottage when I got the news. I had been sitting underneath a large and shady tree looking towards the distant sea and marvelling at the blue sky and how peaceful the scenery was in general. I kept expecting to blink and find myself back amongst the mud and shit of the trenches. It seemed unreal, this place.

My precarious peace was interrupted by a brisk looking Dr Clarkson striding out, holding a letter. I felt a pang as I saw the mourning band he wore on his arm for the two sons he'd lost. I couldn't fathom how bereft he'd felt after their loss. I'd mocked a man for his mourning band once. That man was dead now and I wondered who was in mourning for him? No don't think about William...seeing the screaming man at night was bad enough, during the day...

I blinked as John seemed to have suddenly materialised in front of me. I realised my breathing had quickened to the point where I was nearly panting. He was looking at me with concern and I tried to slow my breathing and calm myself down. I do try not to be too much of a burden to him.

Originally I'd thought he'd come to berate me for not having written in my journal that day. This idea had irritated me slightly. The previous day I'd finally written something about the war and I'd thought that would have been enough to earn me a few days respite from the occupation. I now realised however, that his interruption must have something to do with the telegram in his hand. I eyed the thing curiously, getting over the brief fit. John followed my glance to his hand almost as curiously. He seemed to have forgotten his reason for coming out in his concern for me. He now cleared his throat and began to speak, as though eager to deliver a message before forgetting it.

"My son Jeremiah would like to visit us in a few days time," he informed me. My breathing quickened to its previous rate at this news.

Jeremiah was John's only surviving son. He and John's daughter Betty were his only surviving offspring. The man had literally lost half of his children, all of whom had been involved in the war. Jeremiah had served in the Air Force as a fighter pilot and it was truly a miracle he had survived. His younger brother, John's second son Ruben, had held the same position and died, as was statistically more likely. Nathan, the youngest brother, had died at sea during a naval battle. Betty the youngest of all, only daughter and second surviving sibling had been part of the Women's Air Force, couriering planes between air bases.

I was deathly afraid of what Jeremiah would think of me and what he would think of his father living with me. People never wanted to disgrace their families with...this kind of thing. I was lucky in that I didn't have much family to disgrace, just an old aunt who I occasionally exchanged a letter with. I doubted she'd be ashamed of anything I did, seeing that people were extremely unlikely to connect her with me. But children were an entirely different story. I had no doubt that the opinion of John's oldest and only surviving son would carry a lot of weight.

It wasn't only that I was scared Jeremiah might attempt to break us up. The idea of his even finding out about our relationship scared me. It wasn't something I was used to discussing with anyone other than John himself. Only I handful of people knew of my inclination towards men; O'Brien, the Duke and of course John. No doubt other people _suspected_, but they politely ignored it, for the most part. I could only hope Jeremiah would too.

I realised John was staring at me with concern once again. I quickly pasted a smile onto my face and nodded vigorously. This was my signal that I was pleased about something. John smiled in return and leaned forward to kiss me. I returned the gentle kiss running my fingers through his hair and feeling a gentle breeze waft across my face. As I surveyed the scenery once again, I wondered why I couldn't be more peaceful.

"I can't wait for you two to meet," Dr Clarkson whispered in my ear. 'Oh yes, that's why,' I thought to myself as he returned to the house. I stared moodily into the distance and began nervously pulling up handfuls of grass.

I sat in the living room tearing up handfuls of tissues. I always shredded things when nervous, a trait that had gotten worse since my breakdown. Clarkson eyed me with that concerned look he always seemed to be wearing and that I was beginning to hate. I felt guilty at being the one who put it there. He ought to be grieving and I was distracting him.

"Calm down," John told me firmly. "I've already told him..."

John was interrupted by a knock on the door. He shrugged before going to answer it, obviously deciding not to finish his sentence. That was the problem with not having a voice, you couldn't demand an explanation. I tried to think of somewhere to hide the shredded remains of the tissues I'd dissembled. Nothing appropriate being forthcoming, I shoved them under the sofa cushions, before sitting with my hands firmly folded in my lap. My resolve lasted a few moments before I picked up another unfortunate tissue and began shredding it. At this point Jeremiah walked in.

He was a handsome young man and I had no doubt he was a hit among the ladies. A uniform seemed to make an ordinary man instantly more attractive, but Jeremiah Clarkson was handsome without one. With one, he obviously became a god to young women everywhere. He had his father's pale blue eyes and earnest look, but to his detriment (in my opinion), did not sport a moustache. He also walked with a slight limp and was supported by a cane.

My conscience pricked as I thought of Bates, another man I'd tormented. After confessing my behaviour towards this particular fellow servant to John through my journal, my partner had looked particularly disappointed. His reaction must have had something to do with his own son's condition. I felt terrible. If this was an omen for how things would end up, it was certainly not a promising one.

I nervously stood up to shake Jeremiah's hand, the disturbed tissue fragments floating down from their place in my lap like a miniature snowstorm. Jeremiah politely ignored what seemed to me a highly embarrassing occurrence, barely glancing at the blizzard below our feet. After shaking hands he began to sign words rather quickly with his hands. He'd obviously been forewarned of my muteness.

"Nice to meet you, I've heard a lot about you," he signed. "How are you?"

I signed back slowly. He was more fluent in sign language than I was and he wasn't even mute. John has been unsuccessfully trying to get me to master sign language ever since he brought me back here after the war. I'd been extremely uncooperative sitting back and smirking while he demonstrated different signals, because honestly, his facial expressions when he signed were hilarious. Anyway it had seemed unnecessary to me in the first place as John could generally tell what I wanted without my saying anything and I had no desire to communicate with anyone else. Now I wished I'd paid more attention. Jeremiah probably already thought I was mentally incompetent.

"I've heard a lot about you too. I'm fine, how are you?" I laboriously signed back. I gave John a quick look and he nodded. I backed out of the room, smiling at Jeremiah so he wouldn't think I was being unfriendly.

"He's gone to finish lunch," John explained to his son. He was right; the roast was finally ready to take out of the oven. I listened to their conversation as I plated up.

"He refused to let me cook," John continued.

"I'm glad he did," Jeremiah commented. I smiled to myself. I'd done so for two reasons; the first being that John's food was edible and that was all you could say about it. The second being that I didn't want to be left alone with Jeremiah and a room full of awkward silence while John fumbled about in the kitchen.

"How's your injury?" John inquired.

"Oh about the same," Jeremiah answered airily, as though it were the least of his concerns.

"Well at least it's no worse," my man the optimist felt it necessary to point out.

Jeremy grunted before I heard him walk slowly over to the opposite side of the room stopping I guessed in front of the mantel piece which was decorated with pictures of him and his siblings. There were no pictures of John's late wife Constance. They'd been desperately unhappy throughout their marriage and he didn't like to be reminded of her.

My suspicions were confirmed when I heard Jeremiah observe in a slightly choked voice, "It's strange to think they won't be coming back here. I can't get used to the idea"

John sighed. "Neither can I. Sometimes I sit here staring at the door, expecting you all to come bustling in"

It was true. I'd seen him do it. I selfishly interrupted their sad conversation by bustling out with two plates of food and laying them on the table, pretending I hadn't heard a thing. The two men stopped their joint reflection and seated themselves in front of the plates I'd laid down, while I went to fetch my own. We all began to eat after I joined them.

"This is wonderful," Jeremiah told me after seeming to devour half his serving in a few mouthfuls. He'd given up on signing. It was hard to sign and eat.

I inclined my head and smiled in acknowledgement of his compliment. I figured that was all that was expected of me anyway. Dr Clarkson was supplying the conversation.

"Well Jeremy, how's your sister?" he asked eager for news of his much doted upon daughter. I was curious about her as well. Out of all the pictures that adorned John's crowded mantel place my favourite was the one of his daughter, posing as though in the act of getting into one of the planes she'd flown during her military service. She had a head full of unruly dark curls with aviator goggles perched precariously on top of them. Betty's dark curls were complimented by pale skin, dark eyes and dark brows. She appeared short and busty, but there was an air of intense energy about her. She looked like a little pocket rocket. In short, Betty was absolutely nothing like her father in appearance so Thomas assumed she must look like her mother, the infamous Constance.

Jeremiah shook his head at the mention of his sister. "She's refusing to leave London," he informed them. "But I think she could use a visit from you, dad"

John frowned slightly looking at me in what he probably thought was a discreet way. "I'm not sure a change in scenery would be good for..." he began.

I rolled my eyes over his shoulder and Jeremiah grinned at me. I tapped John on the shoulder before he could finish his sentence and began the laborious process of signing the words "I'll be fine" to him. Honestly, the man wraps me up in cotton wool.

A few different emotions flitted across John's face. He was clearly pleased that I was finally signing (it had taken a lot of persistence on his part for me to participate). But I could tell he didn't like the idea of moving me. "We'll discuss it later," he said in a guarded tone.

I tried to repress another frustrated facial expression, but from the way Jeremy stuffed his napkin into his mouth to hide a fit of laughter I guessed I hadn't succeeded.

"I have some good news," Jeremy announced presently. My ears pricked up in spite of myself; I hadn't heard anyone use that phrase in some time. John too, seemed curious.

"Oh?" he said, quizzically.

"I'm engaged," Jeremy announced, beaming with pleasure. John grinned and reached across the table to clap his son affectionately on the upper arm.

"Congratulations son," John exclaimed, pleasure and pride obvious in his face and tone. "Who's the lucky lady?"

Jeremiah reached into his shirt pocket before taking out a fob watch and opening it. Inside was a photograph of a young lady, evidently his fiancée. "Her name is Mary Holland," he informed us. "This is her here," he added, passing the watch to his father.

I looked over John's shoulder and he shifted so I could see her better. I was interested to see what kind of woman had caught the attention of John's handsome son. I found Mary Holland surprisingly plain. She had slightly curly blonde hair and steely grey eyes and was lightly freckled. Although there was nothing inspiring in her features, there was strength in them that I found appealing. Hers was the kind of face I imagined grew on you the longer you looked at it and the more familiar you were with it.

"She was in the Women's Air Force with Betty," Jeremiah was telling us. "We met when I stopped at her base. She and Betty are great friends"

"Fortunately for you," John said with a smile, "we both know it wouldn't last without her approval"

Jeremiah chuckled at this and I inferred from the interaction that John's darling daughter had quite a strong character. We'd finished eating by this point and I began to clear away the dishes. John rose to help me, but I waved him down, indicating with my head that he ought to talk to his son. I stood in the kitchen listening to the two of them conversing once again.

"You're certainly able to communicate well," Jeremiah observed and I guessed he was referring to John and I. It's funny how when you're mute people assume you can't hear their conversations.

"Yes," John replied. "He's been making great progress since coming here". I hated it when John talked about me like I was his patient.

"Just don't..." Jeremy trailed off.

"Don't what?" John pressed.

"Don't get your hopes up that he'll return to normal," Jeremiah continued. "Betty goes to see her lad every day at the war hospital and he's never any better. He tried to strangle her last week. Thought she was an enemy soldier"

"Thomas's case isn't that severe," John said soberly, "I believe he will eventually recover his powers of speech"

Jeremy let out a noise of frustration. "I just don't want you getting disappointed"

"I'm a big lad," Dr Clarkson said, not without amusement. "I can handle my own disappointments"

I stopped listening to their conversation at that point and stood with my hands in the sink, thinking about what had been said. Would I ever recover my powers of speech? I was scared to even try, fearing that my inability would prove to be physical, instead of mental and I'd never be able to speak again. Remaining silent enabled me to postpone the awful knowledge that I was permanently mute. Standing there, my hands turning wrinkly from the water, I resolved to try in earnest; tonight, after John's pessimistic son had left for London. There was something I needed to say.


	2. An Awkward Christmas

**A/N: **A quick shout out to anyone who's been reviewing any of my stories. Thank you so much, I really appreciate it. It's nice to know your work is being read

I hadn't been to London in a long time, I reflected as I crossed the busy street with Dr Clarkson. There seemed to be an awful lot more motor cars on the road. Or perhaps I was simply spoilt by the peace of our idyllic little cottage in Whitby. The town house John's two surviving children were living in was certainly not in what I would describe as a peaceful location. But perhaps my own feelings of anxiety made the street appear busier, the crowds denser and the traffic noisier. This would be my first meeting with John's daughter Betty and on the train ride over I had shredded several sweet packets that I had brought from the dining cart for the purpose of shredding. I was an absolute wreck and John was caught between amusement, exasperation and concern.

We'd meant to come before now, back as early as March. But setting up our small practice in Whitby had been more time consuming then either of us had realised. John had been down a few times to see his children, while I'd looked after the practice, but he'd absolutely insisted we make the trip down together for Christmas. The thought of the holiday made the idea of meeting Betty all the more daunting. Christmas always made me nervous; possibly because when I was younger it usually consisted of my dad drinking himself into a stupor and yelling at me before my aunt came over with pudding and they yelled at each other.

Before I knew it, John was knocking at the door and Jeremiah was answering. The two exchanged the kind of manly embrace that involves a lot of backslapping, before Jeremiah extended his hand for me to shake. I felt almost shy, taking it; the last time we'd met I'd acted like a complete fool. But at least I'd had the advantage of not having to make conversation as I'd been unable to talk.

"I hear you're talking now," Jeremiah said, a little too kindly.

"I had to," I mumbled, "I'm rubbish at sign language".

Jeremiah laughed easily before informing us that Betty was in the kitchen, making Christmas lunch. I noticed John exchange a significant look with his son, but was too relieved that meeting Betty had been delayed to read too much into it. After this brief interaction, Jeremiah showed us upstairs, having insisted upon carrying some of our luggage. "We've only got the one spare bedroom," he commented. "Not that it matters," he added, as an afterthought. I almost spluttered; I was unused to people making allusions to my private life and it was worse coming from John's son.

When we made our way back downstairs I found myself feeling awkward in Jeremiah and John's company. Deciding to give them a few moments to talk among themselves, I asked if I could get myself a glass of water. Jeremiah pointed me in the direction of the kitchen and I made my way towards it, forgetting that Betty was currently occupying it. I opened the door to chaos.

Smoke billowed from the open oven, as well as several pots on the stove. Dishes littered every available surface and a fine coat of flour covered the entire countertop. A short woman with a curly brown head, who, I was surprised to notice, was wearing trousers, kneeled in front of the open oven. She was attempting to take out some kind of roast without using oven mittens or even a tea towel. As she jerked back her hand, I saw what was going to happen as if in slow motion. Ripping a wet tea towel off the countertop, I quickly stepped in, gently pushing Betty aside. I got there just before lunch fell on the floor and feeling relieved; I made a space for it on the countertop before attending to the numerous pots on the stovetop.

"There's not much we can do about the roast," I said as I inspected, stirred, tasted, added seasoning to and removed various pots. "It'll be edible though and we can smother it with gravy. We can save everything else though"

"Thank you," Betty breathed, marvelling at the kitchen that I'd restored to order. "But...who are you?" and here a slight frown creased her white forehead.

"I'm...erm...your father brought me," I explained awkwardly. I wasn't sure how much Betty knew, or was supposed to know, about my relationship with her father.

"_Oh,"_ Betty said in an uncomfortably knowing voice. She clearly _knew_ everything. "You're younger than I thought you'd be..."

"I'll ...um, just...," I gestured to the door, indicating I was going to leave.

Betty rather unexpectedly grabbed my sleeve. "No!" she said, a little desperately. "You have to stay and help me make the pudding!"

Helping Betty make the pudding ended up involving me making the pudding, while she leant against the stove smoking cigarettes and chatting. John hated cigarettes so much that I was surprised to see his daughter smoking. In fact, he hated them so much that I'd recently given up; one of the small battles that I let him win. But watching someone else enjoy the pleasure of a hard earned cigarette was too much to bear. Unable to stand it any longer, I reached for the packet and took one. She looked taken aback, but she lit it for me without hesitation.

"I can't believe you smoke!" she exclaimed. "Pa hates cigarettes"

"I know. That's why I've given up," I answered with a wink.

"Me too," she said, winking back and giving me a conspiratorial smile before we lapsed into a fit of giggles.

At that point in time the door opened and Betty and I both guiltily hid our cigarettes behind our backs. However, instead of a middle aged, moustachioed doctor, the door opened to reveal a young woman of about twenty two with slightly curly blonde hair and a plain freckled face with strong features. I recognised her from the picture Jeremy had shown Dr Clarkson and I during his visit.

"Jesus Mary!" Betty swore, taking another drag on the forbidden cigarette.

"Wrong Mary," Mary countered dryly, observing the scene. "You two looked like naughty children when I opened that door"

Betty and I smiled sheepishly at each other before Betty introduced me to her friend and brother's fiancée. I shook her hand, adding by way of explanation, "I'm Dr Clarkson's colleague."

"My Uncle had a colleague," Mary shrewdly commented, "for almost fourty years. They were very happy together". I blushed at her frank evaluation. Why did everyone have to know?

The girls helped me plate up lunch, something Betty was able to do. Mary seemed surprised at how appetising everything, excepting the meat, looked and Betty begrudgingly gave me the credit. I denied it, saying I'd only helped at the end. She beamed at me as though I were an angel.

Jeremiah and John were sitting at the table, both looking a little apprehensive as we carried the food out. The relief was almost palpable when they noticed nothing was too badly burned. We all sat down and between the food and everyone else's conversations I was relieved not to have to say too much. The family atmosphere of it all was unfamiliar to me and I felt slightly uncomfortable and out of place.

In the lazy after-glow that follows a hearty and overindulgent meal, Betty began to clear the plates. This time I did not see the plate falling as if in slow motion; I was looking into John's face and laughing at something he'd said. Then I heard a crash and my breathing suddenly became audible.

_An explosion sounded behind me, as I dropped to the ground and began to crawl towards two wounded men I had spotted..._

"Thomas?" Dr Clarkson asked a familiar expression of concern on his face.

_One of the men screamed as blood gushed from the gaping holes where his legs had once been, yet his screams mingled with the roar of machine guns and the screams of other wounded men..._

I stepped abruptly up from the table; my movement was so sudden that my chair fell to the ground behind me. I did not stop to pick it up as I sprinted out of the dining room and up the stairs to the spare room Jeremiah had shown us to earlier. Having reached my sanctuary, I bolted the door shut behind me and sank down on the bed as my flashback became more vivid.

_Would he have wanted to live as an amputee? Did he have a wife and children at home? No, think logically...the other man has a better chance at survival..._

"Thomas!" the flashback was momentarily punctuated by a loud knocking outside the door. "Thomas, please let me in". But I didn't want him to see me like this, not when he'd thought I'd recovered from my experience. I stayed where I was and let the memories wash over me.


	3. Cigarettes and Sympathy

I'd eventually let John in, but I'd refused to come back downstairs, partially out of embarrassment. It was the middle of the night and John had fallen asleep next to me. His breathing was peaceful, but it seemed as though he were frowning in his sleep. No wonder the lines on his face were more defined these days.

I was feeling restless and for no particular reason I stole downstairs. As I neared the foot of the stairs I saw a male figure hunched over the dining table, smoking a cigarette. I meant to retrace my steps and return to my room, but unfortunately for me the bottom stair squeaked and Jeremiah turned around. I stood there frozen for a moment, before Jeremiah offered me the cigarette packet.

"Betty told me you smoked," he commented.

I began to walk towards the proffered packet almost without my own volition. I love to smoke when I'm stressed. I lit it myself with shaky fingers and took a long drag, before sitting awkwardly on a chair next to Jeremy's. Smoking again was like being reunited with an old friend. I remembered all the evenings I'd spent smoking with O'Brien and bitching about the rest of the staff at Downton and felt an unexpected pang of nostalgia.

"She likes you, you know," Jeremiah stated. "Betty," he added for clarification. "To be honest I'm a little surprised".

"Thanks," I said dryly.

Jeremiah ignored that. "She was very close to our mother. She didn't talk to Pa for almost a year after finding out that he…had been unfaithful to our mother"

"Oh," I didn't know how else to reply to that. Silence filled the room before I couldn't stand it anymore and broke it. "I'm sorry about what happened at lunch," I blurted out.

Jeremiah looked surprised. "_You're_ sorry? It wasn't your fault Thomas. In fact, Betty was nearly in tears…"

"Well, it wasn't her fault was it?" I interrupted sharply. "She's not the one who stormed out of the room because she's afraid of a little noise. She was in the war too and so were the rest of you"

"Thomas, it's hardly the same," Jeremiah informed me. "You were on the front line. You saw things that the rest of us didn't have to see. Besides, it's not as if we're unaffected. We all have our little triggers. For me, it's the smell of coffee".

"Coffee?" I asked dubiously.

"I was drinking coffee at an air base when my commanding officer came and told me my brother Nathan had died at sea," Jeremiah explained in a carefully controlled voice. But I could hear the emotion underneath and knew from experience how hard it was to talk about these things. "I can't smell coffee without thinking about it. I don't keep it in the house and if I'm staying at a hotel I don't go down for breakfast in case they serve it".

"I'm sorry," I told him, once again not knowing what to say. I hadn't technically lost anyone in the war. I hadn't had many people to lose.

"You know," Jeremiah said, looking down at his cigarette, "he was the only one of us that didn't secretly smoke? He was a lot like our father, but more absent. He was sort of dreamy and intellectual. He didn't really fit in with the rest of us as kids".

"I would have liked to have known him," I said. I wished it more for John's sake than my own; I knew he would have liked us to meet and that the loss of his two younger sons had cost him more than he liked to admit.

"You would have liked Ruben too," Jeremiah informed me. "He had this little mischievous grin that the girls kept going on about. He was a bit of a womanizer, but he was a lot of fun".

I recalled the pictures of Ruben on the mantel piece; in every one of them he had the same cheeky expression. I'd always assumed Jeremy would have been the heartbreaker of the family, but perhaps Ruben had given him a run for his money.

Jeremiah took another drag on his cigarette and looked down at the fob watch with Mary's picture in it, which I now realised was lying open on the table. "Mary seems lovely," I said honestly.

Jeremiah's face, which up until then had been serious and sombre, broke into an instant grin. "She's not always easy to get on with," he said stroking the face behind the glass inside his watch, "but I love her. I always think myself lucky that Betty introduced us that day"

"That's right they were in the women's air force together, weren't they?" I remembered.

Jeremiah nodded. "Betty used to hate me visiting, all the other women….well they kept pestering her to introduce me to them," Jeremiah's tone was slightly smug at this, but it was counterbalanced by a little bemusement. "Mary was the only one, apparently, who didn't ask. So naturally Betty introduced us," Jeremiah laughed. "She thought I was a bit of an arrogant prick to be honest. I was so concerned that she didn't like me that I tried to make her like me. Then we discovered that we actually had a lot in common…but I should really stop talking about her. According to Betty I'm positively sickening when I get going," and here Jeremiah cut off and looked down at his watch for the second time.

"Are you waiting for something?" I questioned.

Jeremiah sighed and rubbed his temples. "Betty went to see her lad at the hospital after lunch and she hasn't come home yet. Sometimes she stays the night, but she didn't tell us whether she would be or not. If she hasn't told me what she's doing I wait up. I don't like the thought of her standing outside on this street, after midnight. We're hardly in a protected area".

"Who is 'Betty's lad'?" I asked curiously. This was the second time I'd heard him mentioned.

"His name is William. He used to court Betty before the war"

I visibly flinched at the name William and Jeremiah raised a questioning eyebrow. "There was a man called William working at Downton," I reluctantly explained. "I….I found his corpse" that was the short version of the story anyway. Jeremiah nodded understandingly, accepting the simpler side of the truth, before elaborating on Betty's William.

"He went crazy after serving on the front lines. He's delusional half the time and doesn't recognise her, but Betty insists on seeing him every day. I don't think she'll ever love anyone else"

I felt a pang of sympathy so strong tears built up behind my eyes. I cleared my throat to prevent them from spilling over. "I might leave you to wait up for her," I said, perhaps a little too abruptly. I felt as though I'd stumbled upon a private portion of Betty's life; one she might not have wanted me to know about. "Thanks for the cigarette and the talk," I added clumsily, before mounting the stairs. I wanted him to know that I did appreciate his acceptance. The situation was probably stranger to him than his demeanour expressed.

"Cigarettes and sympathy," he joked lightly. "Good night Thomas"

"Goodnight," I answered, feeling relieved that I hadn't ruined Christmas unalterably.


	4. Cold Feet

The ceremony being held at St. James Park was hardly a fashionable London wedding, but Thomas found the little chairs clad with white fabric and the makeshift pulpit quaint and original. Being a military couple many of Jeremiah and Mary's guests, both men and women, had chosen to wear their military uniforms. Thomas wasn't sure this was in the best of tastes; it didn't seem right to have to be reminded of the war on a day like this. Although it was a part of who they all were now, he supposed.

The amount of people attending the ceremony whose hands he'd had to shake and whose names he'd had to remember, had reduced Thomas to trying to escape the situation by hiding behind the bridal marquee, smoking a cigarette. The flap of the marquee opened and a white hand clutching a cigarette entered Thomas's line of vision. It removed itself after it had been lit on his cigarette and Thomas turned around to face the bride. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had had the idea of escaping.

Mary's veil was made entirely of lace and was at the moment swept out of the way of her face, which was unusually anxious, yet somehow still as radiant as a bride's should be. Her dress draped down to her feet and Thomas wasn't precisely sure of the type of fabric but it was something shimmery and light looking. The bodice was low and the exposed flesh was barely hidden behind a sheer layer of lace. The sleeves too, were unusually short and Thomas realised for the first time that Mary's arms were rather toned and her shoulders broader than what was usual for ladies. It was quite risqué for a wedding dress, but Thomas felt it spoke of the boldness of Mary's character, which told him she had chosen the right dress.

"You look beautiful," he told her sincerely.

She shrugged him off and took a long drag on the fag hanging out of her mouth, which rather spoiled the picture of the blushing and naïve bride, the action giving her a worldlier feel. "I'm not too sure about this, Thomas," she said in a frank voice. She looked petrified.

"About getting married to Jeremy?" I was shocked. They always seemed perfect for one another.

Mary nodded before looking surreptitiously over her shoulder, "I can't talk to Betty about this," she confided, "He's her _brother_ after all. She'd be horrified if she thought I was having second thoughts"

"Why are you having second thoughts?" I asked bluntly, she didn't seem to mind though. She seemed to consider carefully for a moment before answering me.

"I never thought I'd get married," she confessed. "I'm very…headstrong. I don't think I'll make a good wife and I won't be able to work. So many places don't hire married women; it's not the done thing and with men back from the war looking for work, they won't be forced to. I'll have to sacrifice my independence for him and if it were anyone else, I wouldn't even consider doing it"

I felt a strong sense of sympathy for her. "Well, you could spend your spare time campaigning with the suffragettes," I suggested.

She gave me a wry smile. "Change takes an awfully long time to take effect, Thomas," she told me, "and after the war, I'm quite sure no one cares about groups of women chaining themselves to public buildings. It just doesn't have the same impact anymore".

I didn't know what to say to her, but I felt as though I ought to say something encouraging. "If you didn't marry Jeremiah in order to keep your independence, you'd be miserable," that hadn't come out as gently as I'd intended. I kept talking anyway, in for a penny, in for a pound after all. "You'd be bitter, like those maiden aunts people invariably have. Besides, frankly I think you're making excuses because you're scared".

At this Mary looked truly affronted, but I kept going in spite of myself. "When I met…" I faltered here, fighting off a blush. I was unused to discussing my relationship with John with anyone who wasn't John. "When I met John," I continued, "and I realised how I felt about him, I was terrified. I thought that there was no way we could work. I pushed him away and we lost a lot of time. I wish I'd been able to show him how I felt a lot sooner and I couldn't tell him until long after the war"

Mary was listening attentively by this point and no longer looked offended. I was relieved and my tone softened as I looked at her. "The fact that you're here, proves you're a lot braver than you think you are," I told her. "All you have to do now is walk down the aisle. I think we all learnt during the war that life's too short to do things that you'd regret and I know you'd regret not doing that"

Mary exhaled a long, drawn out breath. The hand holding the cigarette hung loosely by her side and I could tell she had forgotten about it. "I sometimes don't think I'm good enough for him," she told me and I could tell this wasn't an excuse, but a real fear. "They'll say…all the other women, that I'm not pretty enough for him. They won't be able to accept that he chose me"

"They won't say that today," I told her firmly.

"Of course not, it's my wedding. They have some manners," here she gave a distinctly unladylike snort.

"They won't say that today," I repeated, "because you don't deserve it. You look beautiful". Mary waved this comment off with another dismissive hand gesture.

"Mary, I don't generally alter what I say to consider people's feelings," I was getting frustrated. Mary raised an eyebrow at this remark, as if to say _Oh, really?_ "When I say you look beautiful, I mean it. It's not the dress or how you've done your hair either, there's something about your face I've always liked, something strong and kind. Something very _you_"

Unexpectedly, Mary leaned forward and embraced me in a tight hug. I awkwardly returned the embrace, before we both leapt apart at a prim sounding "ahem". Upon turning around I noticed a young woman with false blonde poodle curls, wearing the red bridesmaids dress I'd seen Betty in earlier that day. Whereas the bold scarlet Mary had chosen for her bridesmaid's dresses suited Betty's dark hair and pale skin, not to mention her personality, down to the ground, the prim, trim blonde woman looked completely washed out. There was something in her face which was vaguely reminiscent of Mary, however her features held none of the strength of character evident in Mary's, although the young woman could be described as the more traditional beauty. I remembered hearing that this woman was Mary's cousin, one of the only relatives she had left and that her name was Cassidy.

It was only from seeing Cassidy's clearly disapproving look that I remembered how deeply inappropriate it was to so intimately embrace a bride before her wedding, when you were not in fact her groom. The thought felt strange, but I realised clearly from her face that Mary's cousin suspected us of having an affair. I almost laughed aloud at the idea. If only she knew...

"Cassidy, will you help me rearrange my veil?" Mary took charge of the situation before Cassidy had a chance to accuse us of anything. "I'm afraid it'll come askew when I'm standing in front of the altar"

Cassidy nodded and the pair made their way back into the marquee, leaving me considerably more amused than I had been before Cassidy's interruption. As I turned around with a wry smile on my face, I saw John striding into view. He was to walk Mary down the aisle, as her own father had died along with her mother very early in her childhood. I saw him frown and followed his gaze down to my hand, which clutched my forgotten cigarette and I grimaced at having been caught. John shook his head at me, but his reaction was moderate. "I understand this is a stressful situation," he told me. "I know you've been trying to quit, so I'll just pretend I didn't see that"

I grinned as I stamped out the offending cigarette beneath my foot. "I'll see you after the ceremony," I said, before surveying my surroundings to see if any wedding guests were near. Seeing no one, I leaned forward and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, something I would never have done even a month ago. John looked both surprised and pleased, before turning toward the marquee to collect the bride. The wedding was clearly about to start and I hurried over to assembled chairs to await Mary's entrance and to watch an obviously nervous Jeremiah waiting alone at the altar. He had no groomsmen, as he had always intended his younger brothers to stand beside him on his wedding day. I suddenly felt a pang of nervousness for him, yet I felt sure that Mary would not jilt him after our talk. Nevertheless, my anxiety increased as the wedding march began to play.


	5. Champagne, Dancing and Gossip

I felt indescribably relieved upon seeing Mary appear at the end of the aisle, her arms linked with her soon to be father in law. She was smiling sweetly and no one would have believed that she had been considering leaving the man in front of her at the altar. Jeremiah, who had been leaning heavily on his cane, immediately straightened up at the sight of her and a few older ladies began to whisper about her low cut dress. She smiled at me as she passed and I saw Cassidy give me a reproachful look when she and Betty walked past, having followed the bride.

The ceremony was short and sweet with a madly grinning groom, a surprisingly emotional bride and a seemingly bored priest. The reception was held at the same venue and dancing and drinking began almost immediately after the couple were introduced by the priest as "Mr. and Mrs. Clarkson". After the Jeremiah and Mary's first dance, all the younger people present filled the floor, with the exception of myself. I stood next to John, drinking champagne. I don't often drink, as I have the tendency to giggle, which is just plain embarrassing. However, today was a special occasion and I was in a good humour, especially after overhearing a particularly amusing piece of gossip. News of my old love affair with the bride had spread through the wedding guests with the help of Cassidy. I'd heard her complaining of it to a vapid looking friend of hers.

"I love Mary to bits, obviously," she'd said. "But I can't understand _why_ she has all the handsome young men running after her. If it isn't enough that she managed to ensnare Jeremiah, she's ruined the young man who came with Dr. Clarkson for everyone else and he's a _doctor_. It's plain selfishness is what it is"

As I smirked to myself while imagining how Cassidy would react were I to explain to her that it was not the bride who had ruined me for everyone else, but the groom's father, John nudged me. "You really ought to ask someone to dance," he told me. "It'll look suspicious if you don't"

I felt disgruntled, having no desire to dance with vapid young women, but I saw the sense in his suggestion. Roaming the reception area in search for someone to dance with, I came across Betty, who was besieged by suitors and looking as disgruntled as I felt. Betty didn't particularly like going to social events and she certainly had no desire to lead anyone on as she had no intention of marrying. In order to do this effectively she staunchly refused to dance during all social occasions. However, she had danced with her brother while Mary was dancing with Dr Clarkson and for some reason this had given the slightly intoxicated young men at the party a vague hope of having Betty for a dance partner. Stepping in to rescue her, I asked if I might have the next dance. Looking relieved she accepted earning me several murderous glares from her would be partners.

As we took to the floor, I remembered how much I actually did love to dance. A fast tune was playing and Betty and I tore up the floor, to the peril of the other couples around us. She was light in my arms and responded to every movement I made with grace. I remembered dancing with Daisy, the clunky kitchen maid at Downton, and almost laughed at the comparison. It was no wonder Betty was such a sought after dance partner, she was certainly an accomplished and lively dancer. I felt a kind of reckless abandon as we circled the floor together that had something to do with a large amount of alcohol and the festive air of the reception. As Dr Clarkson told us later, we'd both unwittingly started a new brace of rumours that night. We were well matched on the dance floor, both dark and pale as well as more or less equally skilled. This as well as Betty's well known refusal to dance with anyone due to her intention never to marry and the number of times we danced throughout the evening, led guests to suspect we were in some way attached. The popular story was that I had asked Betty to marry me and she had refused due to her love for the damaged soldier in the mental hospital which she constantly visited. The story amused both Betty and I as it was so soppily sentimental and we laughed heartily over it when John repeated it in the kitchen of her London townhouse, which Mary and Jeremiah had abandoned in favour of a hotel. When Betty left us to ourselves and made her way to bed however, I saw a seriousness in John's eyes that I could not ignore. I asked him about its cause and he shook his head.

"In a way, it will be a good thing if the rumour lasts," he said in an evasive tone, "it will explain your connection to the family"

I could sense there was more to his seriousness, so I prompted him. John eventually sighed, before answering. "You're going to think I'm idiotic, but when I saw the two of you together and heard the old ladies gossiping about you both, I almost believed them". I snorted at this, but John shook his head again. "You're of the same age and together you both looked…" he trailed off.

I slid into John's lap, sensing he needed some reassurance; the man is annoyingly possessive, though he tries not to be. "In case you haven't noticed," I said quietly in his ear, "as lovely as your daughter is, I am not that way inclined. Were it not so scandalously inappropriate, I would have danced with you instead"

John's moustache tickled my face as I felt him smiling. "I'm too old for that kind of dancing," he told me.

"Well, I suppose we won't be able to do that," I acknowledged, before beginning to nibble his ear, "can you think of something you're not too old to do?"

John's arms wrapped possessively around my waist, "yes," he purred, "I can". In that moment I remembered John's possessiveness was not always annoying.


	6. Marriage Counselling

**A/N: Hi everyone just wanted to say sorry about irregular updates and thank you for continued reviews!**

Months had elapsed since Jeremiah and Mary's wedding and I felt as though I'd hardly seen Dr Clarkson in that time. An outbreak of measles among the children of Whitby had kept us both busy and we'd taken to sleeping in separate rooms since desperate mothers had developed the habit of bursting into our cottage in the middle of the night. Even if we had been sharing a room, I was usually asleep before my head hit the pillow nowadays.

Finally however, the outbreak seemed to have reached its peak and those who had contracted the disease were recovering. Some of the children I had treated had died, including a small girl. I've never particularly liked children, or even had much to do with them, but the way little Sophie suffered quietly through her sickness made me want to cry when I went home at night. I knew she was going to die, but I didn't tell her and was evasive when her parents asked me about her condition. After she died, her mother gave me the rag doll her daughter had clutched throughout her illness. I tried to return it, but the grieving woman insisted and I eventually accepted it. I knew it ought to be burnt to prevent the spread of the disease, but I couldn't bring myself to do that. Instead I sterilised it, which felt almost as bad and tucked it away somewhere where I wouldn't have to look at it and be reminded of the patient I hadn't saved. But no other children had died since Sophie and so far none were in danger of dying. Accordingly, John and I had a Sunday afternoon off for the first time since Jeremy's wedding.

I watched John turn the pages of his book, noting the bags under his eyes and how exhausted he looked, before sidling over to the sofa and placing my head in his lap. John absentmindedly began stroking my hair, without looking up from his book. I sat there for a moment with my eyes closed like a contented cat before I decided I wanted something more. I moved John's fingers over my face, before placing two in my mouth and beginning to suck, knowing he liked that. John instantly put his book down and leant over to kiss me.

At that moment the door banged open, hitting the wall with some force. John and I both sat swiftly upright, looking guilty. Turning my face towards the door, I was surprised to see Jeremiah with a petulant expression on his face and was besieged with an instant image of him as a surly teenager. I put my fist up to cover my mouth and prevent myself from laughing. Meanwhile, John was looking both perplexed and concerned.

"What are you doing here?" he asked without preamble, "Where's Mary? Not that we aren't glad to see you," he added.

Jeremiah shifted his weight back and forth, looking a little uncomfortable. "Mary and I…have had a falling out," he answered.

I felt my mouth fall open in shock, all previous amusement leaving my face. How could they have had a falling out so soon? They were still supposed to be in their honey moon period.

"What happened son?" John left the couch to clap a sympathetic hand to Jeremy's arm. I found myself gravitating towards the kitchen to make everyone a cup of tea, as John led his son to a seat at the kitchen table. Jeremy had still not answered his father's question when I placed the cups on the table.

"Thank you darling," John said distractedly and I blushed at his using his pet name for me in front of his son. Even Jeremiah looked up momentarily and raised an eyebrow, before offering me a tight smile after I grimaced.

"Mary's just always making an issue out of the smallest things, starting a fight whenever I leave my shoes in the wrong place," Jeremiah said eventually. "Sometimes I think the two of you are lucky. You're both men. I'm sure you don't have fights about dirty socks"

I exchanged a sidelong glance at John before we both burst out laughing. Jeremiah looked confused, before John took pity on him and began to explain. "Thomas and I have actually fought about the state of my laundry," he explained.

"Your father is a pig," I added, by way of clarification.

"If you wanted it done so badly, why not do it yourself?" John flashed.

"I've spent half my life cleaning up after other people, I wasn't about to start picking up after you," I retorted. We both glared at each other for a few moments, before once again erupting into laughter.

Jeremiah looked astonished at this sudden change in mood. "How do you do that?" he asked in a perplexed tone. "How do you fix everything, just like that?"

I paused to think about all the fights John and I had had previously. There was no way I was going to tell Jeremiah how we 'made up'. He might be open to the idea of my having a relationship with his father, but that would be far too much information. Looking over at John's hesitant face I could see that he too, was trying to formulate a plausible lie.

"We…" I cleared my throat to buy time, "talk". Yes, that sounded reasonable.

"Yes," John hurried to agree. "When we feel calm, we sit down and discuss our disagreements"

Jeremiah was nodding and I had the horrible suspicion that he hadn't tried that before storming out. "Have you tried doing that with Mary?" I asked pointedly.

Jeremiah looked sheepish, which I took as my answer. He then picked up his hat and made his way back to the door. "I suppose I'd better go home and try doing that," he announced.

John shook his head fondly at his son, "Only you would take a train from London to Whitby to ask for advice, stay for five minutes and then leave again"

Jeremiah grinned at his father without pausing in his stride. "I'd stay longer, but I didn't tell Mary where I was going and I don't have it in me to start another fight," he explained.

John shook his head after his son banged the door behind him. "Just like when he was a teenager," he said, confirming my suspicions. He seemed to ponder this a moment, before turning to me and inquiring in a polite voice which belied his intentions, "now, where were we?"

I laughed softly, "Perhaps we'd better lock that door, this time".


	7. Over

Appropriately enough, it was raining at the funeral of Betty's lad William. Betty stood under a black parasol, looking pale yet calm. She appeared to be numb and had hardly spoken, slept or even cried since the death, according to Jeremiah. William's parents wept and Betty held the woman who would have been her mother in law, in a fairer world. I felt out of place standing in the mud and listening to the eulogy of a man I had never met. Oddly enough, I felt as though I had met him. Betty had let slip certain facts about what he was like before the war. He had been sweet and softly spoken with straw coloured hair, freckles and big, gentle hands. His father had been a carpenter and most other girls had thought him homely, but Betty travelled beneath the rough exterior and loved what she found there.

The rain slackened off towards the funerals end, and we turned towards the house Betty had shared with Jeremiah before his marriage. I looked in the direction of his wife and marvelled at her swelling belly. She was in her third trimester and it was no longer difficult to believe that she and Jeremiah were about to become parents. Mary was leaning back, looking uncomfortable, tired and emotionally exhausted. Jeremiah wisely opted to take her home and John, who was worried about his daughter in law's health volunteered to accompany them. I rather wondered whether he did this because of Betty's outward calm. While she was not weeping and wailing I felt sure there was a roiling sea of tears within her waiting to be released. Selfishly, I did not want to be by when they were. Still, she needed company of some form and even if my skills at consoling might be deficient I was better than nothing.

Our journey to the town house was made in near silence and I was growing increasingly worried at John's daughter's behaviour. She was such a passionate young lady that none of us had expected her to react this way to the death of the love of her life. When we reached our destination I rushed upstairs to change out of my soaking clothes. Before I reached the top of the stairs however, I heard a crash which stopped me in my tracks. Hurrying downstairs, I flung open the door to the kitchen just before Betty sacrificed another piece of crockery. The huge pot connected with the ground accompanied by a thunderous crash. My reactions to loud noises were better now, but I still trembled and was only just able to hold onto the present by concentrating on the pained mask which Betty's face had become.

"Everything's shit!" Betty yelled as she propelled yet another plate towards its doom, "I...I don't feel anything. It's all so pointless!"

I had been standing unsure, but a sudden fit of inspiration gripped me and I took a bowl from the countertop before smashing it on the floor. Betty looked shocked at my mimicry of her actions and I spoke in the ensuing silence. "Did that look helpful to you?" I asked. "Did that change anything?"

Suddenly Betty's face crumbled and she was in my arms, crying like a little girl. I gently lowered us to the ground, sweeping away shards of porcelain so she wouldn't cut herself. Betty's body was racked by great, heaving sobs which gradually subsided. When she was calm, she spoke. "In a way, I felt like he was already dead," she confided, "like I was holding onto the shell of the man I knew. He wasn't the same person he was, but it was something. Sometimes, I swear he knew me. I always thought... I always hoped, even though everyone told me not to. Now I can't. It's over and now I don't know what to do. He was my life"

"Betty," I said softly, gently stroking her hair, "I can't imagine what you're going through. The only thing I can say is that I think it would be sadder never to have known someone who loved you as much as William did than to lose him now. I also don't think the man you described to me would wish you to stop living because of his death"

"I don't care," Betty sobbed. "I just want this to go away"

"I don't think it does," I told her. "But if you keep wallowing in what happened, you'll never be able to find comfort. You can't shut yourself up and pretend you'll never feel anything. Pain is better than numbness"

"No it isn't," Betty contradicted.

"At least it helps you realise you're alive," I countered.

"I just want it to stop," Betty said, once again reminding me of a child.

Knowing there was nothing further I could say, I convinced her to change out of her damp clothing and go to bed. I put a hot drink on her bedside table and when I next passed her room, she'd finally fallen into an exhausted sleep. It wasn't until I was cleaning up the mess she'd made in the kitchen that I realised I was crying too. I thought about what it would be like to have lost John and suddenly understood Betty's numbness, colossal fit of passion and racking sobs perfectly.


	8. Christenings and Confrontations

**A/N**: Sorry to everyone for a much extended break in this story, I've had some pretty intense exams lately. Perhaps this instalment will make up for it?

I very seldom attend church, as can be imagined, a fact that the local pastor of Whitby never fails to mention whenever I deliver him a prescription or treat him for some other mild ailment. I find his attempts to convert me quite amusing. In contrast, John attends church every Sunday and I personally have no idea what he sees in it. All that eternal damnation is rather depressing, particularly for someone of my persuasion.

Until today, I had not set foot in a church for at least five, possibly seven years. I hesitated on the threshold before steeling my nerve and reminding myself that I was here for Jeremiah and Mary. After asking John and I to be godparents, it would be rather rude if I refused to attend the Christening of their first child. John and I had been elected godfathers, while Betty and Mary's only surviving cousin would be godmothers. As I entered the church a little behind John, who was swept into a conversation with an ancient relative I had not yet met, I was confronted with a fierce glare from Cassidy. At first I was puzzled at what I could have done to incur her wrath before remembering the incident at Mary's wedding and her misguided belief that we were lovers. I fought to keep from smiling at this memory, but the idea of having an affair with Mary was so ridiculous that I did not succeed in smothering a small smirk.

This seemed to infuriate the righteous Cassidy, who marched over towards me, clearly incensed. "Mr. Burrow," she said in a sickeningly sweet voice that failed to hide her malice, "would you step outside with me for a moment?"

There was no reasonable way to deny the request, so I shrugged my shoulders and followed her out the church door. As soon as we were out of sight of the other guests, she whirled around and placed her hands on her hips.

"I believe it would be best for you to leave," she announced imperiously. My skin crawled at her pretentious over annunciation of words. She seemed to be mimicking members of the upper class, such as the Crawley's.

"I was invited, so I believe it would be best for me to stay," I retorted, making my Yorkshire accent, which had diminished over the years, stronger in a kind of rebuttal to her falsified pronunciation.

"Haven't you done enough to Mary? Can't you leave her in peace with her family?" she hissed all pretence at politeness gone from her voice.

"I don't believe I have done enough. She asked me to be a godparent to her son and I think it would be rude of me to leave before I've done that, don't you? Besides, you're more likely to ruin this occasion. I wasn't the one spreading malicious rumours about Mary on her wedding day," I was surprised at the levels of sarcasm and venom apparent in my voice. I hadn't been provoked to respond like this in a long time.

Cassidy turned pink at my accusation before opening and closing her mouth several times. "Well…at least I wasn't making eyes at the groom!" she eventually retorted.

"Of course you weren't," I replied nastily. "He wouldn't look back, for all you think you're prettier than Mary"

Cassidy's face froze and her eyes went dead for a brief moment in time before her features realigned themselves in an expression of hate. I felt the familiar elation that came with hitting a nerve and grew concerned with this relapse in my behaviour. Perhaps I should have calmly explained the situation to her, as opposed to insulting her. Before I could rectify my mistake however, Cassidy spoke.

"Leave, or I'll tell Jeremiah everything," she threatened in a low voice.

"There's nothing to tell," I icily informed her. "But if you were to say something to Jeremiah, I have plenty to say to Mary"

Cassidy gave a final furious glare before turning her back to me and marching up the stairs. I watched her retreating profile. Her pale green summer dress and beige hat were the height of fashion and looked enchantingly sweet on her, but there was little sweetness below the façade. I stood frozen on the steps, itching to retaliate to her threats in some way and hating her for reawakening what had once been a powerful and petty desire to do other people's reputations harm. Just as I was about to step over the abyss and formulate a damaging rumour of some kind, John appeared at the top of the steps, clearly looking for me. I raised my hand slightly to catch his attention and he made his way towards me.

"What are you doing out here, Thomas?" he asked, brow wrinkling in concern. "The service will begin in…"

"Cassidy asked me to leave," I interrupted him.

The furrows on John's brows deepened, "What on Earth?" he asked, looking slightly angry.

"Apparently she thinks I'm still having an affair with Mary," I explained, with distaste.

"Did you tell her you weren't?" John asked in a slightly exasperated voice.

I reflected on our conversation. "No…" I admitted. John gave me a frustrated look and I began to defend myself. "She insinuated it, so I couldn't really tell her we weren't. But I meant to explain that hugging Mary before her wedding didn't mean anything, only I'd insulted her, so she just threatened to tell Jeremy and stormed off"

John shook his head and dragged me around the side of the church, out of sight and earshot of Jeremiah and Mary's other guests. When we were alone he put his head in his hands and sighed. "Alright," he said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefingers as he did when he was frustrated. "You didn't handle that as well as you could have, but we both know Jeremy won't react to whatever nonsense Cassidy comes out with. So I take it you're not going to leave?"

"Of course not," I exclaimed, offended.

"Good," John responded, leaning forward to give me a soft kiss on the mouth. I moved my lips slightly, before we were interrupted by a crashing sound behind us.

Cassidy stood a few metres away, her mouth an exaggerated parody of shock. Below her was a small flask which contained some kind alcohol that had caused the offending crash. It seemed Cassidy had a slight drinking problem. John took charge of the situation, politely stepping forwards and picking up Cassidy's flask.

"I thought you'd told Mary you had your addiction under control?" he questioned. The words sounded friendly enough, but there was an implicit threat to them.

Cassidy snatched the flask away, secreted it in her hand bag and made to move past us towards the church. As she neared where we were, I reached out and grabbed her hand on impulse.

"Mary and I aren't having an affair, please believe me," I declared with false sincerity. Cassidy snatched her hand away, nodded once and strode away.

"Well," was all John said, staring at the retreating figure. We both knew Cassidy was a gossip and inwardly I was beginning to panic. "We'd better go inside," John said quietly, I nodded. We took seats next to Jeremiah and Mary, both of whom were glowing in spite of the dark circles under their eyes. Little Ruben was tiny, pink and only able to squirm and rub his face, yet he'd bewitched me and I couldn't help smiling at him, curled up in Mary's arms in his ludicrously puffy white baptism outfit. Mary smiled proudly in acknowledgement of my doting, but it was clear she thought it was only natural for her son to be universally admired.

The priest came in and gave a sermon about new life and the promise of forgiveness. It wasn't quite the fire and brimstone I'd expected and I was caught unawares. I found myself listening attentively and inwardly berated myself for it. Afterwards Mary and Jeremiah carried Ruben to the front of the congregation. The priest addressed them individually, asking them to provide a loving Christian home for Ruben, to which they both replied "we will". After this, the godparents were asked to join the birth parents and their son at the front of the church. Betty, Cassidy, John and I left our pew to stand near Jeremiah and Mary, Cassidy looking resentful. John stood on Jeremiah's left and I stood beside John, while Cassidy and Betty stood beside Mary. After making our own vows to support and care for Ruben, the priest began to trace the sign of the cross in water over the baby's head.

As this was occurring, John whispered into my ear, "Look at Betty as though you're in love with her". At first I was a little taken aback, before I saw the logic in this instruction and looked adoringly across at Betty. I realised we were putting on a show, just as Betty and I had inadvertently done at Jeremiah and Mary's wedding, in case Cassidy should revert to gossip. Betty caught my gaze and returned it with a confused frown before interpreting it as some kind of game and smiling. After a moment she returned my stare with a glance of love and longing. Betty had relaxed her strict mourning of all black for the occasion and wore a grey floral dress that was more subdued than anything she would normally have chosen. William's death had been hard on her, but she was beginning to move past it, in her own way. She'd thrown her energies into training as a nurse and John couldn't be prouder of her.

As the ceremony progressed I found myself uplifted. Perhaps the religion I'd despised for so long because of a perceived rejection from it, was not entirely about damnation? I was not about to proclaim myself a born again Christian, but I supposed I could tolerate it enough to go to church one Sunday a month with John, so he would not be berated by his congregation for failing to convert a heathen.

Ruben's baptism having been completed, we made our way towards our pew. Mary passed the baby to Betty and I put my arm around Betty's shoulders while leaning forward to gently squeeze Ruben's little hand. As the christening broke up, I overheard the following conversation,

"…don't be absurd. He's quite clearly in love with Betty," a matronly lady in a pink hat admonished.

"I saw them!" exclaimed a whiny voice which I recognised as Cassidy's. "They were kissing behind the church!"

"Nonsense," the lady whom I recognised as Cassidy's mother, Mary's Aunt Prue dismissed. "You've already tried to convince all and sundry he's having an affair with poor Mary. Really, if you want gossip to spread, you'd do better to be consistent"

Cassidy opened her mouth to protest, however the torrent issuing forth from Aunt Prue's mouth was growing stronger. "Furthermore, what were _you _doing behind the church? That wouldn't be brandy that I smelt on your breath, would it?" her severe frown was enough to cause Cassidy to lapse into a sudden silence. I breathed I sigh of relief as I followed the new parents out of the peaceful church and into the busy London street. My relationship with John had very nearly become public knowledge.


End file.
